


Licentiosus

by Not_You



Series: A Love Of Soft Living [3]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Image, Body Worship, Bottom Snake, Finger Sucking, Gay Bar, Hand & Finger Kink, Hotel Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, One Night Stands, Period-Typical Homophobia, Safer Sex, as in fatman's body image is GREAT thank you, i fucking love that i get to use that tag for DADT, pretty much the exact opposite of fat-shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: An episode from Snake's misspent youth, in which he and Fatman find themselves in the same gay bar.





	Licentiosus

**Author's Note:**

> Licentiosus (Medieval Latin) - "full of license, unrestrained"

It’s not like Snake can’t get it up for ripped types, that would be kinda self-loathing and also really tragic, given the circles he runs in. Fox’s wiry strength feels pretty great in his arms, and it’s not like having Platypus’s lean, hard thighs wrapped around him is a bad time, but he’s glad for this opportunity to pick up someone softer. If anyone Asks, he’s not going to Tell them that on leave he went straight to a gay bar.

Of course a lot of the guys here are skinny young things and/or racks of vanity muscle, but it’s still just nice to be somewhere that isn’t a barracks or the wilderness. The well whiskey is even good, and so what if the music is terrible? Last time he was at a place like this he managed to pick up an adorable elementary school teacher, just going soft around the middle. There’s hope.

Snake nurses his drinks and just lets the bar flow on around him, since he doesn’t dance and he’s well out of the local scene. Really, it’s just nice to be around queers who are allowed to admit it. Soaking up the vibe is enough. And then trouble walks in wearing light-up sneakers. He’s round and cute, with one of those intense, grumpy little faces like the R and D guys tend to have, and his head is so perfectly smooth that it’s hard to tell if he shaves it or has some kind of actual alopecia. Whichever it is, Sneakers is pulling it off. He orders something complicated and leans on the bar looking bored.

It’s interesting to watch, as the vanity muscle parts around Sneakers like the Red Sea. Sneakers just looks bored, like he’s fully aware that nobody here is worthy of his magnificence. Snake isn’t really sure what the fuck is wrong with everyone, that kind of confidence would be hot on anybody. With that in mind, he throws back some more whiskey and goes to introduce himself.

Sneakers is sipping something tall and pink by the time Snake sidles up to him, and he glances over at Snake without taking the neon green straw from his lips. There’s something kind of adorable about his skeptical look. Some of the women Snake picks up immediately realize that he’s serious, but the men never do. They’re usually sure that he’s a gym rat who thinks it’s funny to dash people’s hopes. Sneakers looks like he’s thinking something similar, but that the last thing it would do would be to make him feel worse about himself.

“Can I help you in some way?” he asks Snake, raising an eyebrow. Or at least, the skin where one would be, looks like it is some kind of alopecia. Interesting.

Snake shrugs. “Thought I’d offer to buy your next round.”

“On a dare, or for the fun of it?” Sneakers’ voice drips sweetness, while his eyes clearly say that he will cut Snake if his intentions are less than honorable. It’s pretty hot.

“Definitely for the fun of it,” Snake says. “I don’t even know anyone here.”

Sneakers narrows his eyes at him and then extends one hand. “Fatman. Like the bomb.”

“Jack,” Snake says, admiring Fatman’s manicure as he grips that beautiful hand in his own. Fuck, it’s so soft. He wants these delicate fingers in his mouth.

When Snake has to guard his real name so much and with the codename used for classified missions, it feels weird to give either one to a hookup. Most of the time he just uses Jack. Something about it feels right. Fatman seems to know that isn’t his real name, but fuck it, nobody’s mother ever named them ‘Fatman.’

It turns out that all that confidence is not a put-on at all, and that Fatman is here on business and his hotel is just around the corner. After that second drink, they make their way into the summer night outside. On the smooth sidewalk, Fatman demonstrates that the sneakers not only light up but have wheels hidden in the heel.

“I didn’t know they made those in adult sizes,” Snake says, and Fatman makes a neat loop around him as he walks.

“They don’t yet, these are custom.”

“Custom?”

“A few people owed me small favors.”

Probably more than a few people. The hotel is the kind of nice that makes Snake itch a little, but there’s no point in complaining about it. Besides, maybe there’s an actual bathtub, he likes that when he has a minute. Fatman tells him all about the lobby’s architecture as they go through it.

“Not my kinda thing,” he says when Fatman seems to expect an answer, “but it’s pretty.”

“Pretty?” Fatman asks, and he sounds like Master Miller always used to when he wasn’t sure if someone was giving him a stupid answer or a good one.

“Yeah,” Snake says, as they come to the elevator. “The columns are kind of like trees. Catches a little of that forest quality cathedrals were going for.”

Fatman chuckles, leading the way into the elevator when it arrives, gold-toned doors whooshing open. “So you’re more of a pagan?”

“More a guy who doesn’t believe in anything, but likes forests.”

“I don’t believe in anything but beauty,” Fatman says, like that’s something anyone would say with a straight face. Snake has no idea how to respond to that so he stays quiet, which seems like a good choice when Fatman starts to lay out his ground rules. He’s a top and they’re not arguing about it but he doesn’t insist on fucking Snake, there will be protection for whatever they do opt to do, and that he is not here to fall in love but that if Snake refuses to kiss another man he can just stay in the elevator and go back to the lobby. He’s so sharp, tough like a lot of the women Snake has been with. It fills him with fondness, and he smiles across the elevator at Fatman.

“I love to get fucked, only an idiot goes bareback, and I’d like to kiss you, you’ve got a nice mouth.” He pauses for a moment, and then adds, “And I’ve got a rule of my own: real men cuddle. Just a little, I don’t have to stay all night or anything, but none would piss me off.”

“Hm. That shouldn’t be a problem,” Fatman murmurs.

They reach their floor a moment later, and Snake follows Fatman out into the hallway. He’s used to narrower ones in divier places. The open space makes him a little nervous, and he sticks close to Fatman as he leads the way to the room. It’s a nice room, but Snake doesn’t get much time to examine it because the second they’re inside, Fatman has him pressed back against the door. It’s not like Snake couldn’t escape, but he just chuckles. Fatman glares up at him like an offended cat, and then kisses him. Snake can see why he’s so insistent on doing this: artists always love their work. He finds just the right pressure and little sweeps of the tongue to make Snake melt, and he can’t help a soft groan when Fatman grabs his hair to control the angles.

“I think,” Fatman says, just far enough away to form words, his breath warm and full of booze and fruit against Snake’s lips, “that I’m going to like you a great deal better than the usual boorish military types.”

“I hope so,” Snake breathes, and then lets out a quiet moan as Fatman pushes his shirt up. Fatman chuckles, pinching Snake’s nipples and making a pleased noise in his throat at the way Snake squirms. Those hands are so soft and so skilled that he really has no choice but to melt back against the door and whimper softly, gripping Fatman’s shoulders and savoring their give as Fatman pinches and gently twists. Fatman purrs, a low, pleased sound “Know it’s kinda weird,” Snake gasps, “but can I just lick your head a little?”

“You are more than kind of weird, I think,” Fatman says, but that isn’t a no, so Snake leans in. Fatman doesn’t lean back, and Snake sighs, dragging his tongue from Fatman’s naked temple to the top of his head. It is even more weirdly satisfying than he thought it would be, and he makes a low, pleased sound in his chest, licking him again. “Beyond weird,” Fatman murmurs and then tugs Snake forward. “Come on, let’s put that mouth of yours to better use.”

Snake is hoping he’s going to get to blow Fatman, but once he’s on his knees, Fatman offers him one of those pretty hands instead of his cock. That’s good, too, and Snake sighs, sucking Fatman’s middle two fingers into his mouth. They’re so smooth and satisfying on his tongue that he can’t help moaning, and Fatman chuckles, fucking them into his mouth in a controlled, insistent way that makes Snake whimper. When Fatman adds his forefinger, Snake moans at the way it stretches his lips, swaying forward and trembling as Fatman pushes way to the back of his mouth, pressing Snake’s tongue down hard and courting his gag reflex. He moans when Fatman pulls back, and moves to follow his hand. Fatman just withdraws it completely, and Snake whines, sitting back and waiting.

“Good boy,” Fatman purrs, and Snake can feel himself blushing down to his collarbones at the low, needy sound that spills out of his mouth at the praise. 

Fatman slips just the tips of his fingers into Snake’s mouth again, just teasing at the inner edge of his lips, pulling away again when Snake barely sways forward. He stops immediately, and stays still when Fatman touches his mouth again, smooth, deft fingertips just resting at the seam of his parted lips. He trembles, and tries not to pant too hard. 

“Yes,” Fatman purrs, and just brushes along Snake’s lips for another moment before pushing three fingers inside. They glide in all at once, filling Snake’s mouth and making him moan. He doesn’t suck, not sure if he’s allowed, and Fatman makes a low, quiet noise that goes straight to Snake’s cock. “Good boy,” he says again, sounding a little breathless. “Stay still,” he adds, gently pushing along Snake’s tongue, “but you can suck them.”

Snake groans, muffled and heartfelt, and lets Fatman finger-fuck his mouth. He’s a fucking tease, always pulling back and just trailing his smooth fingertips around Snake’s open lips and making him whimper and moan. He can feel himself getting more and more flushed and loose-limbed, his cock so hard it aches with every beat of his heart.

“Such a good boy,” Fatman purrs, and Snake shivers, gazing up at him. Fatman smiles at whatever he sees in Snake’s eyes. “Jack,” Fatman murmurs, “I think that I should bend you over the couch and fuck you.”

“O-okay,” Snake breathes.

Of course Fatman puts down a towel and gets the lighting right while Snake is struggling out of his clothes and watching Fatman sidelong, hoping he’ll at least take his shirt off. It’s a big sweatshirt, and when he does finally remove it, Snake can’t help a hungry little noise in the back of his throat. Fatman is so perfectly round and smooth, and Snake is desperate to touch him. Fatman chuckles, and holds out one of those pretty hands, beckoning Snake in close. Snake is more than happy to obey, and for a while he’s just writhing against that softness, pressing himself to Fatman and panting, sucking and biting at his neck, his shoulders, his chest.

At last, Fatman grips Snake’s upper arms and gently pushes him away and turns him around. Snake lets Fatman bend him over the couch as promised, and then whines helplessly at the first touch of slick, deft fingers on his hole. He can’t help rutting into the rough softness of the terrycloth a little, but Fatman doesn’t seem to mind. He works one and then two fingers into Snake, efficient but gentle, and Snake melts over the couch, making a soft growling noise in his chest that he can’t seem to help as Fatman slips a third finger into him. The stretch is fast but not too much, and Snake pants and moans, pushing back onto it.

“You really do love to get fucked,” Fatman says, and he sounds slightly breathless and so pleased that Snake can’t help whimpering and wriggling a little. Fatman chuckles, and pushes that last little bit deeper, fingers pressed as far into Snake as they’ll go. He delicately crooks them and Snake sobs because the angle is so fucking perfect.

“Please,” he whimpers, and then bites his lip to keep from whining as Fatman’s fingers slide out. Snake can hear a condom packet being torn open, and cranes his neck enough to watch Fatman put it on. He has had people try to go bareback on him before, and he’s glad to be able to relax now. 

Fatman meets his gaze and gives him a slight smile. “I’m a man of my word, Jack,” he says, and then slicks himself with lube, coming close with all that heat and weight and soft, soft skin. Snake groans as Fatman lines up against him, whimpering when he just stays there for a moment.

“You’re surprisingly cute,” Fatman tells him, and then finally, _finally_ pushes into him. 

Snake starts making an embarrassing, high-pitched little sound on each exhale and can’t stop it, pushing back onto Fatman and whining sharply when he realizes that Fatman is resting his belly on Snake’s lower back, a soft, warm rolling of skin on sensitive skin as Fatman fucks him deep and slow at first, and then faster, rough and demanding and perfect. One of those pretty hands knots into his hair and tugs, and Snake groans, grinding back onto Fatman, wishing they were face to face, suddenly desperate to kiss him and to feel that soft belly fucking _everywhere._ Somehow it just makes it better that Fatman doesn’t let him, just keeps him pinned to the couch. 

The soft friction of the towel on Snake’s cock is incredible in its own way, and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to need anything else if they keep going like this. He may not need anything else, but he gets it anyway, one of those soft, _soft_ hands wrapping around him while Fatman, more breathless than ever, tells him to come, that he wants to feel Snake convulsing on his cock. Snake isn’t even sure if it’s the touch or the words, but soon he’s coming all over the towel with a low, quavering cry that he has never heard from himself before. He gets too sensitive after he comes to be fucked at full intensity right away, but a few painful thrusts as Fatman comes, panting harshly and shuddering all over, are something he more enjoys than endures.

Good as the sex has been, it’s even better that Fatman covers Snake’s neck and shoulders in kisses afterward, still buried inside him. He’s just so fucking _soft_ , and Snake can’t help a quiet moan. Fatman chuckles, smooth palms running up and down Snake’s sides in a slow, soothing rhythm.

“Take care of this and come to bed, Jack,” he murmurs, nibbling at the rim of Snake’s ear.

It’s really a wrench when Fatman stands up, taking all that soft warmth with him, but Snake stands on slightly shaky legs and wads the towel so all the jizz is in the middle, leaves it by the door, and makes his way to the huge bed, where the sheets are crisp and clean and un-fucked-on and Fatman is a goddamn _genius_. Snake tells him so, when he comes out of the bathroom to join him. 

Fatman laughs, crawling in beside him. “I like to think of myself as a problem-solver,” he says, and then pulls Snake into his arms, letting him snuggle close.

“’M gonna want a smoke in a minute,” Snake mumbles, but for now, he’s content where he is, cuddled up to Fatman’s belly, and feeling the gentle vibrations of his speech as he lectures Snake about his filthy habit and the fundamental weakness of chemical dependency. After a while, he adds, in a resigned kind of way, that this room does have a perfectly lovely balcony for Snake to illegally pollute.

“Mm. Good to know,” Snake says, mumbling against Fatman’s chest, and Fatman snorts.

“You are vile and uncouth,” he tells Snake, stroking his hair, “and extremely lucky that you’re so cute.”

“Hrrm. I’m lucky _you’re_ so cute,” he says, and Fatman snorts in derision, but hugs him a little more tightly.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I guess MGS2 is _really_ awkward.


End file.
